Your Guardian Angel
by Lioness's Heart
Summary: Sequel to The Call. After months together, Beka and Rosto don't seem to be able to get along anymore. After an argument, Beka is sent out on another case, and Rosto is forced to face it alone. But when she runs into trouble, will he be there to save her?
1. Part One: You Don't Care

**Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. If it was, Bloodhound would have gone very differently....  
A/N: Finally, the (possibly) long awaited sequel to The Call! So, basically, somewhere four to eight months have passed since the end of it, Rosto's completely recovered, and the main idea for this came from _Your Guardian Angel_ by The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, and I highly recommend listening to it while you read it. I'm pretty happy with this - and it's all written, too! It only has to go through editing before being posted. Anyway, end of the author's note - enjoy the chapter, and review! I love to hear what my readers think! And if you want a say in the fic I post next, check out the poll on my profile!  


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**"Just leave me alone!" Beka Cooper, red-faced and angry, shouted at Rosto. His dark eyes narrowed.

"If you want me to leave you alone, why don't you just get out of my room?" He countered. Everyone in the room was staring at the two of them. It was one of the few times they had decided to have breakfast up in Rosto's room, and it obviously wasn't going well.

Beka and Rosto had been feuding for weeks, for reasons unknown to even them. They had become extremely close after Rosto's near-death experience with the Tusaine Rogue. But, after months of being inseparable, they had quiet suddenly begun to bicker uncontrollably. The slightest thing caused them to argue, and it was starting to get annoying for everyone else.

"Humph. I don't know what I ever saw in you," she muttered darkly as she stalked out of the room. Rosto made an indignant noise, crossing his arms over his chest. He sat down on his bed and glared out the window. Kora and Aniki exchanged glances as he sulked.

No one dared utter another word at breakfast. When Phelan closed the door behind him, Rosto stood and crossed the room, locking the door. He glared out the window for a while before flopping down on his bed and stared up at the ceiling.

None of this made sense to him! None at all. He wanted this relationship to work – it was the best one he had ever had. He really loved Beka, more than he had loved any other mot he had ever gotten involved with. There was something so different, so special about her. There always had been. But suddenly, neither of them seemed to be able to control themselves in the other's presence. They had had five shouting matches in the last week alone, and they had barely made up after each of them.

Why wasn't it working? He wanted it, she wanted it, but they could no longer stay in the same room for more than ten minutes! He punched his pillow in frustration before rolling over on his stomach and propping himself up. He looked at the sword that was hanging on his wall behind his bed, his eyes traveling across the supple leather of the scabbard and the design of the hilt. That was the sword that he had with him when he had nearly died. He had had it put up to remind him – both of them, really – that nothing could separate them.

But it seemed that it had all been in vain. Here he was, after finally being _happy_ after so long, knowing that he was searching for something, that something was missing, and it had all shattered. She didn't care anymore, and, for all he could stare at her for hours and imagine their life together for years to come, he couldn't stop himself from fighting back when they argued.

_What if that part of the story, where they live happy ever after doesn't happen?_ he thought to himself. _What if me and Beka really weren't meant to be, like all of those stories about star-crossed lovers say? _

After a while, he pushed those thoughts away. They wouldn't do him any good, nor would they help in his relationship whatsoever. But still, he had to wonder about it. Maybe it wasn't love after all. Maybe it was just his need to find something entirely different from who and what he was, and possess it.

He had never thought of himself as particularly possessive, but still, he had to wonder about that sometimes. Was the love just an infatuation that would fade in time, and never come again? Was it just an insane need to own something – someone – who was so different that she made him feel whole? How could that be? He really cared for her, more than anything else in the world. He wasn't that selfish, was he?

Rosto sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. He saw only one thing when he closed his eyes, as he had for months on end. Beka's face, her blue-grey eyes, long dark blond hair, and that brilliant smile that warmed his heart. She wasn't just a possession for him to own so that he could use it when he wished to, and set it aside when he didn't. She was a person, who had seemed to truly care about him, for a time, at least. He had cared so deeply…

But maybe it really wasn't meant to be. What if, years later, she would find someone else, someone better suited for her than him? Then she would be trapped. He knew that she wasn't a person who took her obligations lightly, and asking her to marry him, like he had been planning to before this bickering had started, would do just that. If she said yes to him, she would be trapped forever. He knew that he couldn't do that to her if there was a chance that they really weren't meant to be together. He couldn't do that to her.

And, thinking about it, he couldn't do that to himself, either. For her to be miserable, would make him feel horrible, selfish, and cruel. Because he would be what stood in her way, just like she had stood between him and death.

But, as he thought about it more, he knew that, if given half the chance, he would do that to her. He was selfish, conceited, and as vain as a man could get. He _was_ possessive, and he would stand in her way if that meant that he would get what he wanted. That was how it had always been. Rosto always got what he wanted. Always.

He had gotten his way with almost anything when he was little. He had been the youngest son and spoiled like the baby of the family that he had been until he was five, when his little sister had been born. He had always gotten everything he wanted. If his parents didn't give it to him, his grandparents had. Then, he had wanted to go into the Rogue, so he had. He had wanted power, and he got it. He had wanted an adventure. He got it, and Aniki and Kora with it as part of the deal. He had wanted the Rogue's throne. He had gotten it. He had wanted Beka. He had gotten her.

Thinking about it, he had never been denied anything in his entire life, for all he had never really been more than upper middle-class at best. And thinking about it, he knew he couldn't let any of it go. That was just how he was. He wouldn't let the power, or his throne go any more than he would let someone cut his hair. And that was never going to happen.

He pounded his fist against the frame of his bed, wincing as pain spiked up his arm. It wasn't fair. He loved her, couldn't she understand it? He was struggling with his inner nature here, trying to figure himself out, and all for her. So that they could stop fighting, and go back to just loving each other. Rosto was frustrated beyond belief. And he had Court tonight.

As if his day needed to be any harder. This was really the last thing he needed on a day like today. What with his mind being in turmoil over Beka and his very nature, this was just a headache waiting to happen. At that matter, he did feel a headache coming on. Just wonderful…

He walked into the Dancing Dove later, barely noting how busy it was. He walked over to his throne and seated himself, watching as the Court of the Rogue settled into the motion that would carry it through the night. His dark gaze scanned the room, landing on Beka over in a corner with what looked like a mug of lemonade. She was looking right at him. Her gaze did not waver when he met it, but she did not look happy.

With a sigh, Rosto rose from his throne and sauntered over to where she sat. She looked up at him without a word. Her blue-grey eyes were hard, and she looked just as annoyed as she had when she had stormed out of his room that morning.

"All right, what's got the Terrier all riled up?" he asked, leaning against the table. She glared at him.

"Don't you ever get tired of bothering people?" she asked sharply. Rosto looked down at her, surprise written all over his face. The expression was gone seconds later, but the frown that had accompanied it had not disappeared.

"Is that really what you think I'm doing? Bothering you?" he asked softly. Her gaze didn't soften at all, nor did it leave his face.

"Yes." Rosto's frown deepened when he heard this response.

"What's gotten into you, Beka? Two months ago, you never would have said—"

"So? What's your point?" she demanded, getting to her feet. No one was paying attention to either of them, nor to the noise they were making. It was too loud in the Dove for anyone else to hear them anyway.

"The point is that I haven't done anything – I want this to work, Beka. I really do. But this bickering we're doing isn't doing a thing to help at all!" he said. He held out his hands in a peaceful gesture, trying to calm her down a little. It didn't work.

"That's another problem. You haven't done anything. You forget everything, and you don't care. You don't care about me, or the relationship we had. You don't care at all, Rosto the Piper," she said, her voice rising with every word. She moved toward and poked him in the chest with every word she said next. "You. Don't. Care. I'm just a possession to you and I know it."

"That isn't true," he protested. "And you know very well that it isn't like that. I love you, Beka. I'm not afraid to say it. What is this about?"

"That's just it. If you did care, you would know. If you did care, I wouldn't have to tell you. Goodbye, Rosto the Piper," she said. Her tone was deadly soft; then she turned on her heel and walked away. Rosto stared after her for a few moments before he took a deep breath and walked back over to his throne.

"You're in charge," he told Aniki in a low voice. She nodded. He knew she had watched the whole thing, though she hadn't heard anything that had been said.

Rosto strode out of the Dancing Dove before he could lose control. No one saw the single tear that slipped down his face when he retreated into the darkness outside.


	2. Part Two: You'll Never Know

**A/N: I know, I know, I'm late. Again. I've been super busy, and so has my mom, so she hasn't been able to proof it for me because we've been going every day for the last week or so. Anyway, this chapter is a tad shorter than the last one, but it's the middle part of the threeshot, and that seems to be how it is for both this and The Call, but the last one will be longer than this and the last chapter. This one has a lot of melodramatic Rosto in it, just like the last one did – hope y'all enjoy! Don't forget to review!

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A week later found Rosto standing on one of the bridges over the Olorun River. His dark brown eyes were closed and he was just standing there, leaning against the guardrails. When he opened his eyes, he watched the rushing water below him. It seemed like he hurt everywhere. And not just outside, but inside, too.

Beka had left the City three days after their last argument. She hadn't told him why. At that matter, she had not spoken to him between that particular row and the time she had ridden off. It had been Ersken who had told him, and that had been just that morning.

Rosto was not proud of the way that he had acted since then. He knew that it wasn't helping anything, and it was only making his friends worried about him. The fact that they had not even seen him sober enough to walk in a straight line in the last three days (they had only seen him in the evenings, because he spent most of his days in his room, either moping or nursing a hangover) worried them. Aniki had told him blatantly just that morning that she never wanted to see him drunk again, too.

He still had a headache from the night before, and it was throbbing painfully, but he didn't really care. He had sunk into the depths of depression once again, and had been more than morose all day. All the same, watching the river rush by made him feel a tiny bit better. It was certainly more helpful than sitting around the Dove all day. The Dove just reminded him that he was probably never going to see Beka again, no matter what happened on this assignment of hers.

Even so, the realization had been forced upon him – he couldn't drink the pain away. The real irony of that statement is that he had told his father that years and years before when his mother had died. Now, he could identify with it. That pain was not the pretty kind, and it reared its ugly head at every turn. Rosto was hard pressed to push it away, and half the time, he found that he couldn't even try.

In the end, he really just didn't understand what had happened between him and Beka. He had no idea why she had started acting like that. Maybe it was just that it hadn't been a good idea for them to get involved, much less continue to be together. Maybe it was just better that way. Maybe it was better that they had never gotten past the kissing stage in their relationship, even if they had spent nearly every moment they could spare with each other.

Rosto sighed, closing his eyes again. His fingers ran over the pewter and crystal crow disk that hung from the chain at his neck. He didn't even know if she still wore the necklace he had given her all those months ago when he had left on the near fatal journey. Probably not, he decided. She wasn't even likely to need it, or try to use it even if she did have it, for all he had had the charm on the pendants renewed after he had been well enough.

He sighed again, letting go of the chain and pendant. Here at the river, he was almost tempted to drop it and the rest of what had happened in. Still, he found that he couldn't. Beka had always seemed so different from all of the others he had tried to win at one point or another. She really was, now that he thought about it. She was the first one who had really – really – returned his feelings. All of the others paled in comparison to her, even Aniki and Kora, though they were his closest friends now.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Rosto turned to walk away from the river. His thoughts were going in a million directions at once, and not for the first time – at the moment, he both loved and hated his life. It was so different from what it had been before Beka, and he was different, too. Once, he would have relished a challenge like this – it would have been a game of cat and mouse, and he would have been the cat! He would have chased after her, reckless and intent on his prey – or prize, in this case.

Suddenly, Rosto did not feel like the man who had come home from the battle with the Tusaine Rogue barely alive. He really wasn't that man, now that he considered it. He never really had been, except at those moments. He wasn't as kind or sweet as Beka seemed to have thought he was. Maybe it was just the self-pity talking, but he couldn't remember a day when he hadn't gotten what he wanted. (Though, in reality, he wasn't nearly as spoiled as he thought he was, he was only thinking of himself that way out of that self-pity. In reality he had not gotten what he wanted all that often. He just thought he had, and he was being rather overdramatic about everything.)

Why did it have to be like that? He couldn't help but wonder that as he made his way back to the inn. Maybe he could…no. No. That was the end of it. No more trying to drink the pain away. No more self-pity. He had to let Beka go; that was what she wanted, and he needed to let her have what she wanted this time. If he was lucky, she would come back and things would go back to normal, if not, then…well, he would face that if it came. For now, though, he had to get out of Corus. He needed to get away for a while, away from the hurt that he was constantly feeling.

A half-smile appeared on his face as he walked back to the Dancing Dove. He knew he could leave Aniki in charge for a while – she had been in charge while he had been recovering, and it had worked well. He had to get out of Corus for a while. He had been meaning to visit the Rogue at Trebond for a while; he had put that off because he had wanted more time with Beka. But now, it was the perfect opportunity to take care of that. He could get away for a while and take a break. Maybe that would give him time to think about what had happened, and a way to fix it.

Rosto sighed as he walked up the stairs to his room. He was thinking about her again. That was the whole reason that he had been trying to drown out his thoughts until he was standing at the bridge, when he couldn't keep them away. But, he would have plenty of time for that later, he told himself.

He packed swiftly, taking only the clothing that would be durable enough for traveling – mainly canvas and leather would be best, he had decided. They would be warm enough in the mountains, as well, so it was perfect. All of his spare daggers went into the bags, too, just for an added measure. Two extra blankets went into the bedroll as well, along with the one that was already there, and whatever else he thought he'd need. He changed and took the pack and saddlebags downstairs, ducking into the kitchen to get some provisions.

"What are you doing, Rosto?" a voice from the doorway asked. He turned to look at Aniki, who was standing there and staring at him, or mainly at the clothing he was wearing. He went back to pulling things out and putting them into one of his bags.

"I'm going to Trebond, like I've been meaning to," he told her, tugging at the edge of the short-sleeved leather jerkin he wore as he closed his pack.

"Really? I thought…" she started.

"I know. You thought I was a complete wreck. I was. But I can't live like that," Rosto told her. "It's been a week, and I think I need to get out of here for a while," he continued.

"Were you going to leave without telling us?" Aniki asked. Rosto looked at her and shook his head.

"No. I wasn't. But you know now, so it doesn't make a difference. You're in charge of the Rogue while I'm away," he said. Aniki nodded solemnly.

"Be careful, Rosto," she said.

"I will," he replied. He picked up his pack and saddlebags and walked over to where she stood, stopping momentarily to embrace her. "Thank you, Aniki," he said softly. She nodded, watching him sadly as he pulled back and walked away.

Rosto walked over to the stables and began to ready his horse, abruptly thinking that this horse was the same one he had ridden when… He pushed it out of his mind as he picked up the saddle. That was the last thing he needed to think about right now; it was the last thing he _wanted_ to think about.

A few moments later, with a sigh, Rosto led his horse from the stable and mounted up, turning to make sure that he had indeed attached the saddlebags to the saddle properly. Once he was sure of that, he urged the horse forward, though his mind had once again turned to Beka. _If you don't ask her about it when you get back,_ he thought to himself as he rode off, _you'll never know why this happened…

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**Posted 5/19/09**


	3. Part Three: Your Guardian Angel

**A/N: Yay, the last part of the threeshot! I'm very happy with this for the most part, and (as with The Call) it's in Beka's point of view. It's nice and long, and should hopefully answer some of the questions that all of you have. Hopefully. If it doesn't, feel free to ask, and I'll answer it if I can. Now, I must get back to trying to undo my writer's block for Bright Eyes....Don't forget to review! It will make me VERY happy, and a happy Lioness means more fics. Enjoy!

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**Rain was pouring down. To Beka Cooper, they felt like icy spikes the instant they touched any bare skin. It had been over two weeks since she had left Corus on the tail of a cove who had struck and killed an off-duty Dog during her Watch, and it had become a far bigger chase than it should have. This cove had to be caught, and it was for more than just cold-blooded murder. Her skin was numb and her clothing was completely soaked through. What was worse was that she hadn't been able to find any sort of shelter whatsoever from the storm that had been going on for hours.

Her horse had thrown a shoe miles back, and she had been forced to leave the mare at an inn not too long down the way (though it had been quite sunny then) from where it had happened. It had only been mid-morning then, and she had known if she kept walking, she could get somewhere safer (namely Trebond) before sundown. What she hadn't been planning on was a storm and getting lost in the mountains. She was cursing herself for her ill-luck the whole time. She always seemed to be the one who had bad luck like this…most recently, it had been with the relationship she had had with Rosto. By now, he had probably gone off with some other mot and would probably flaunt it in her face when she got back. That was how he was…it always had been. He had treated her like a possession in the last few weeks when they were arguing practically nonstop. That did not stop the image of months before from entering her mind again.

She still remembered the way she had seen him when he had been so gravely before. It was like it was burned into her mind and it was resurfacing because of guilt. He had shown no pain when she walked away, no sorrow. Rosto had just let her go, and he hadn't even tried to seek her out before she left. She shouldn't feel guilty about that! He was the one who had wronged her, treated her as if she had no importance! No…he had let her have her way. He had let her go, and there had been hurt in his eyes. He probably hadn't come to find her because he thought she hated him.

Beka reached up to finger the necklace she still wore. She had tried to throw it away, but she had found that she couldn't. She hadn't been able to bring herself to throw the pendant that Rosto had given her away. It had simply been too hard to do that because of what it reminded her of. That image appeared stubbornly as she paused on the ledge she had been walking on and closed her eyes. He had been so helpless then, so close to death, and she had stopped it. She knew that he still bore the long scar from shoulder to hip from that wound, because the healers hadn't gotten to it in time. It had been a long recovery that was for sure, even more so because Rosto insisted on pushing himself past his limits. He had had dizzy spells for weeks because he was up and about when he should have been in bed resting.

Lightning flashed above her head, causing her to wince. There had to be something close by – a cave or an overhang – anything. She didn't care where it was, she was cold and tired. It had been raining for hours on end. A great crack of thunder made her jump in fright. She pressed her hand to her chest, trying to calm her breathing before moving on.

It was sudden when she fell – the ledge beneath her, which had been solid a moment before, abruptly crumbled. Beka let out a shriek of surprise when she was sent sliding downward. She scrabbled to find something to hold onto, to stop her rapid and frightening descent, but to no avail. Everything was wet and she barely had time to try to dig her fingers into the tiny crags in the rocky face of the mountain. She was dashed against stones that jutted out, one of which sent a bolt of pain up her leg and caused her to let out another screech as she continued to tumble toward her death.

Suddenly, there was a strong hand grasping hers. The momentum of her fall all but disappeared and she was just hanging. Someone was holding her up. She saw the shadows of a hood over the person's face when lightning flashed again. Rain dripped down, falling onto her face as she looked up at her rescuer. It had to be a man from the way his hand gripped hers. And the steady strength in which he lifted her from hanging over the edge of a shallow ledge.

It was only once she was safely on the spit of rock that she even tried to get a look at the man who had rescued her. Before she could protest, he scooped her up. She cried out when he jolted her leg, tears forming in her eyes even as the pain receded. From there, the last thing she remembered was blacking out in his arms as he carried her away from the mountainside that was nearly her death.

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Beka woke once more hours later. The first thing she was aware of was that she was no longer cold or wet. As she blinked her eyes groggily, she also noticed that there was a fire burning not too far away from her, too. She was wrapped in blankets and tucked inside a bedroll. She didn't remember that.

She sat up slowly, looking around. She was in a cavern of some sort. There was a great opening about sixty feet away, where rain was still pouring outside. The cavern itself was off a sandy brown stone, and there were a few boulders littering it. There was a grey horse dozing over in one corner, lead rope tied to a stone that jutted out from the side of the cave wall. She was surprised that the horse didn't start when there was another crack of thunder outside.

That was when she noticed that she was not only wearing clothes that did not belong to her, but she was not the only occupant of the cave. There was a man sprawled across the fire from her. He was lying in a way that she could not see any distinguishing feature by looking at him. A blanket was mostly cast off, only covering a little of his body as he slept. Beka craned her head to try to see him, but couldn't see anything.

With that in mind, she turned her attention to the clothing she wore. It was only a little loose on her, but only a little. The shirt was made of a durable material that she couldn't quite distinguish with her still sluggish mind. The breeches, though, were leather and durable, and they looked like they had been well used. She turned her attention back to the man who had rescued her, a slight frown coming to her face. Had he had the brass to change her clothing for her, for all she was sodden all the way through and unconscious?

An expression of determination appeared on her face as she pushed the blankets off and tried to get to her feet. The instant she did so, she regretted it. Pain spiked up her leg and she let out another loud cry of pain, startling the man awake.

Though her eyes were blurry from the tears of pain and from sleep, Beka instantly knew who it was. Rosto the Piper blinked sleepily at her, his usually neat horsetail awry, and dressed in sturdy traveling clothes. She paled considerably when she saw his face.

"Oh, good, you're awake," he said, a smile appearing on his face. "I was worried that you would catch a fever while I was resting," he continued. She stared at him. How in Mithros's beard was he that cheerful toward her, even when she had been the one who had broken their relationship off. At that matter, why was he even thee? Was he following her?

"What are you doing here?" she demanded before she could stop herself. Rosto raised an eyebrow as he got to his feet.

"I was riding toward Trebond to meet with the Rogue there when the rain started," he said. "I heard you scream and caught you. I also splinted your leg – it's broken, as you can tell," he told her. She huffed bad-temperedly for a moment. "I didn't follow you, Beka. It was pure chance." She looked up at those words, shock written on her face.

"You…you didn't?" she asked. She tilted her head slightly.

"No, I didn't. I actually had no idea where you went. And if Ersken told me, I was probably drunk at the time," he admitted nonchalantly. She stared at him for several moments.

"You? What? Huh?" That was all she could articulate through her surprise. She had never seen Rosto so much as take a sip of anything other than wine, and he'd only ever had one glass if he had that much.

"Yes. I did. I was a mess after that last fight, and when you left…" he trailed off, refusing to meet her gaze. "I tried to drown out the pain, and it didn't work in the least," he stated. He took a deep breath and looked down at her again, a soft smile on his otherwise expressionless face. He was so calm…it just didn't make sense to her…

"But then…why…." Rosto held up a finger to silence her.

"Because I've realized that you were right. I was treating you like you were just something I could own. I was very inconsiderate of you, Beka, and I'm sorry for it. I should have treated you like you were important, because you were, and like the mot I wanted to spend my life with. I didn't, and I've paid for it. It's your choice now. I'm still here, and I will be even if you chose not to take me back. I'll be your friend if it comes to that. But I won't stop loving you. And I can only thank you for shaking me awake," he said. He rose and walked over to her, crouching down next to where she was sitting. He carefully placed a kiss on her forehead before moving to put another log in the fire.

Beka watched, dumbfounded by the noticeable change in the way he was acting already. He got to his feet and brushed his hands off. Then he pulled the hair-tie that was keeping his long white-blond hair back in a very messy horsetail out and ran one hand through the strands in an attempt to neaten them a little. She was so intent on watching him that she didn't notice that he had pulled his hair back again and tied it.

When Rosto saw her watching he simply smiled – not smirked, but _smiled_ – at her and went about his work. She just watched as he did this. She was honest shocked by this. She had thought…well, it didn't matter what she had thought. She had been wrong. This was very much the man she had saved, not the one who had begun to be cold and uncaring toward her and everyone. A soft smile curved her lips as she watched. He was no longer paying attention to her, but she was glad of it. She could think then. He was letting her have her time to think.

Still, she was entirely speechless. She had not expected this reaction in any way, shape, or form. Rosto had always seemed to be indifferent when a mot had broken off a relationship before he and Beka had become close. He barely reacted usually, and if he did, it was never like this. He had actually _thanked_ her for it. And then he had said…he had said that it was up to her if she wanted to continue the relationship, and that he would still be her friend if she didn't. It was utterly, maddeningly confusing.

"Beka?" His soft voice brought her back to reality. He was once again crouched next to where she sat with her injured leg outstretched. There was a wooden plate in his hand and a small slab of cooked meat and greens on it. "I'm sorry it's not much, but I was only carrying enough for myself and there's not much left," he said.

"Thank you," she replied. He offered another smile, then got up to go back to whatever he had been doing before he had taken the nap she had woken him up from. There was a long silence before she spoke up again. "Rosto?" He looked up at her and waited for a moment.

"Yes?" he asked softly when she hesitated.

"I think…I'm sorry that I hurt you…I know it was for the best…but can you ever forgive me?" she asked finally. Rosto's dark brown eyes were trained on her face as she said this. Another moment passed, and she was scared that he wouldn't.

"You're right again, Beka. It was for the best, and I can forgive you for it. I regret the way I acted toward you before. It should be me asking for your forgiveness, not the other way around," he said. "Will _you_ forgive _me_?"

"Of course," she replied without hesitation. "But you have to promise me something," she continued. Rosto nodded, but his expression did not change at all.

"What is it?" he prompted.

"Promise me that you won't do that again. That, if I take you back, then you won't change like that again…I don't like that person you were becoming, Rosto," Beka continued, her voice dropping to a softer tone again. "I was scared that I was going to lose you and I couldn't bear it…" Rosto rose to his feet and walked over to her, reseating himself next to her. He put his hands on her shoulders.

"I promise, Beka. I want this to work. I love you, and I don't want to lose you again," he told her. She smiled at that. Instead of saying 'thank you,' she just hugged him, because somehow, she knew that it was the right thing to do. Rosto smiled into her hair, just pleased that whatever had happened between the two of them had been forgotten. The rift was gone, now…

"I love you, too, Rosto," she whispered. He was about to say something more when she relaxed against him, falling asleep in his arms. His smile changed as he watched her. He was so tempted to trace her relaxed features with a fingertip, but he did not for fear of waking her. So, he let her sleep, carefully making sure she was warm in the bedroll once more.

The next day found Rosto leading his horse along the path through the mountains with Beka in the saddle. She had tried to argue, but the fact that she was injured and there was no healer present to heal the break won out. So, she had given in and allowed Rosto to walk so that she could ride. According to what he had said, it wasn't too much farther before the path they were taking (which had probably not been the safest nor the fastest way to go) would take them back down the mountain and to Trebond.

He glanced at her over his shoulder and flashed a smile at her when she was unable to suppress a giggle. When he looked away, her expression changed to one of confusion. Had she…just…_giggled_?!? She had never giggled like that before. What in the world was going on? She could feel her cheeks burning, and she was extremely thankful that Rosto had not turned around to look at her again.

She settled back in the saddle, thinking for a moment. She could only see the back of his head but she couldn't stop herself from thinking that the light brown of the leather jerkin he wore suited him. Actually, she couldn't avoid the thoughts that these rough clothes seemed…different…better, in a way…than the extremely nice ones he wore in the Lower City.

Beka wasn't paying attention at all until she heard the stone crumbling nearby. She looked around, and saw nothing. It wasn't until Rosto let out a yelp that she saw what had been about to give way. By then it had. Rosto had instantly let go of the lead rope because he was worried that he would startle the horse with the sudden weight. He had grabbed the edge of the rock that was still firmly attached to the cliff face.

Her heart skilled a beat when she saw that he was already slipping. The images of the day before, when she had fallen, flashed through her mind. No! That couldn't happen to Rosto! There was no one to catch him as he had caught her. He would only fall….and he would die…

Careful not to jar her injury, she swung her leg over and pulled her other foot out of the stirrup. She tried not to put any weight on her leg, and slowly moved toward the edge. He was slipping so fast!

It wasn't until Rosto knew that there was no way that he was going to be able to hold on that he gave up. He was once again resigned to his fate as his hold on the rock failed. Then, when the stone he had been trying to hold onto slipped from his hand, he felt another grip on one of his hands. Beka looked down at him from the ledge, doing her best to keep him from falling.

Moments later, he was safely back on the ledge and Beka was hugging him tightly as he did the same to her. It was only because of her that he was safe this time, just as it was because of her that he had come to his senses.

"Thank you, Beka," he said softly. She was crying into his shirt – she had been so scared that she was going to lose him, just like before. She pulled back a moment later and smiled at him, tears still in her eyes. That was all he needed. He decided then and there, he wasn't going to let Beka go ever again. He couldn't, nor did he want to. He just smiled at her, then kissed her lightly before she could move. Beka smiled at him when he pulled away. That smile was enough to make his heart stop.


End file.
